I'm Gonna Crawl
by Evermoore
Summary: Sam and Dean start on a new case in a small outskirts town after a string of mysterious deaths but  another hunter is waiting for them with troubling news. Dean/OC
1. Diner Meetings

The diner smelled of thick, artery-clogging grease and bacon charred beyond any form of recognizable food. Truckers and locals sat up along the front counter chocking back the daily special with a resigned zeal. The waitresses' surgically white sneakers squeaked along the chipped and faded red linoleum as they darted between tables, freshening coffees.

She sat in a booth in the far corner, spinning a pencil in one hand as she stared blindly down at the folded newspaper in front of her, pretending to struggle with the crossword. A waitress strode up to her table, a working, wearied smile on her face. "Freshen you up?" she asked nodding toward the half empty porcelain cup on the table.

Startled she glanced up quickly, "Sure," she said indecisively, looking back at the crossword. The waitress filled the cup and waltzed away.

She bounced the pencil between her fingers, growing impatient. She'd been sitting in the diner all morning, waiting. If they didn't come soon she'd have no choice but to leave or she'd start attracting suspicion from the other diners.

Just as she was considering the morning a lost cause, the bell over the door sounded out and two young men entered. She felt a jolt go through her, sure that finally the waiting had panned out. Mercifully, she heard them slide into the booth ahead of the one she sat at. Carefully chancing a glance she saw the one facing her was in his mid- to late twenties with short brown hair and a slight dusting of stubble across his chin - exactly fitting the description she'd been given.

Looking down, she tried to focus on their conversation, but their hushed tones were partially masked by the diner chatter. Still she caught a few words now and then.

"Dean, listen-" one of them spoke sharply before a young blonde waitress flounced over to take their order, cutting him off. That was all the information she needed to convince her to hang tight.

She sat, nursing her cup of coffee, as Sam and Dean Winchester ordered greasy diner breakfasts and spoke to each other in low, conspirators' tones. Eventually she stopped pretending to puzzle over the crossword and stared sightlessly out the dingy window, attempting to catch any further insights into their conversation. Every now and then her straining ears would pick out a word or two, but never enough to make the slightest glimmer of sense.

After a considerable amount of time she saw the boys preparing to leave.

She took a moment to hunt enough money to pay for the food and coffee she had managed to choke back from the wallet in the well-worn bag beside her in the booth, but was careful to keep them in her peripheral vision as they slid out from their booth. She stood and followed the Winchesters out of the diner, her heels clicking lightly on the abused tile. Although she followed them closely she was sure to leave a safe distance between them, though she was aware that Dean or Sam had likely been fully aware of her from the moment she started eavesdropping. They were the golden boy Winchesters.

As Sam and Dean reached the far side of the parking lot they turned to face their pursuer. She stopped dead, keeping the same comfortable distance away from the two young men.

"So you want to tell us why you're tailing us, Sunshine?" the shorter one she took the be Dean asked. She watched as his eyes scanned from her sunny brown hair passed the fitted black jacket and faded blue jeans and back again. Sam stood stoically beside him, distrust in his eyes.

"First, you tell me; are you Sam and Dean Winchester?"

Her eyes followed Dean's arms as he crossed them in front of his chest, watching as one hand disappeared under the leather jacket he wore, no doubt to find a handgun hidden there. "Might be," he quipped.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, surveying her face, "and just who are you?"

"That's going to take some time to explain," her eyes remained fixed on the hand Dean kept underneath his jacket warily, "but this isn't the best place to discuss-" she paused searching for words to describe what she had sought them out for, "what I wanted to talk to you about."

Sam and Dean shared a glance before turning their gazes back at her, not making any motions to happily accept her less than half-assed explanation.

Knowing that it was easier to give a bit more information than to stand there staring at each other she let out a breath, "Theresa Priestley," she said by way of introduction. There was a short pause before she said, a little hesitantly, "And I know Bobby Singer."

"Bobby? Bobby sent you here?" Dean asked incredulously, his look of suspicion growing.

"He didn't send me here," she corrected quickly.

"Then why are you here?" frustration tinted his words.

"Are you - are you a hunter?" Sam asked critically.

"Yes. That hard to believe?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice but still sounded snippy.

"Well, no offence, princess, but you don't look the type," Dean's eyes scanned her again, resting on her fashionably feminine heeled boots which were obviously no good for any kind of physical activity.

An ironic, agreeing smile crossed her lips and she nodded knowingly, "Yeah, I know. But that's why I was looking for you two."

The brothers shared another communicative look. Dean's hand relaxed inside his jacket and the distrustful look faded a few degrees from Sam's eyes, though she knew she was far from out of the woods yet. "Well, in that case Theresa, what can we do for you?" Dean's question was loaded with not-so-hidden implications, as was the cheeky smile he flashed her.

Sam subtly nudged his brother, and obvious reprimand to keep focus on more than a pretty face. "What do you mean?"

"Uh-" she paused once again, "like I said, I don't think this is the best place to discuss it."

"Why not?" the keen suspicion entered Sam's green eyes again.

"It's just-" she sighed, dragging a hand through her hair, allowing it to stay buried for a moment before dropping down once more the smack against her thigh. "I don't know what's going on, but I don't want to be overheard by…anything."

"Overheard by anything?" Dean raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"What do you mean?" Sam's tone was much less accusatory though it was clear that his patience was running low with the veiled hints and very much wanted some answers.

"I doubt you guys chose to just detour over to this small time town, so you know there's a job here," she started, putting her hands uneasily into her pockets. Dean nodded his agreement, encouraging her to continue, "But I've been here for over a week, working on it, and something's just not right." She shifted her weight to one side, casting a look around. "Look, I'm really sorry. But there's got to be somewhere else we can talk. Please."

"Yeah, okay," Same said hesitantly, though clearly interested in getting to the bottom of this, especially if it involved the job they had come here for.

"Well, where's a good place? My motel room isn't far. If you guys are good with that, I can lead you there." She had her misgivings about leading them to someplace where she would be vulnerable nightly, but she had heard that they were trustworthy guys, and after this short meeting she was slightly inclined to believe it was true.

Neither of the Winchesters spoke for a moment; she could almost see them weighing the odds in their minds, using the keen sense of self preservation necessary to all hunters who weren't already sleeping under tombstones. Theresa knew how suspicious it probably sounded and were she them she wouldn't be likely to accept such a proposition, after all, she could be some freak with a grudge against them. Hunters weren't exactly the most understanding people and she had a feeling they didn't believe she really was one anyway. From what she understood, there were plenty of people wanting to take a crack at their whole family.

"Alright," Dean agreed gruffly, "Lead us there. We'll follow right behind."

"Thank you," she had been worried that they would refuse to speak with her, and she really needed their help in this one. She was out of options. "See that black Mercedes behind you?" she nodded in its direction over their shoulders, "It's mine."

They both looked behind them at the spotless C300 model. It might not have been ideal, but at the very least it ran well and was pretty anonymous, in that regard it was perfect.

She walked over to her car, passing close by the Winchesters as she did so. Opening the back door she tossed in the bag she had carried with her into the diner. Theresa looked up in time to see Sam and Dean climb into a beautiful '67 Chevy Impala. She looked the classic American muscle up and down, feeling downright, sinfully envious.

After only no more than a moment she noticed Dean watching her admiring his car, a slight smirk on his face. Feeling a little embarrassed at being caught ogling, she opened her driver's side door and climbed in, pulling her keys out and starting the ignition. From the sounds of things, Dean had done the same. The sound of the Impala's engine roaring into life shot another jolt of jealousy through her body. He probably did it on purpose. Which only caused her to grit her teeth as she pulled out.


	2. Communication Breakdown

The parking lot Theresa pulled into stood in the shadow of a large sign announcing "The Redbrick Inn" in bright red and green florescence. The motel wasn't the cheapest one she had ever stayed at, but she was still eager to get out of there and on to a new town as soon as possible after staying there for the past week.

She swung into an available parking space only two doors down from where she was staying and switched off the engine. She grabbed her bag and stepped out of her car just as Sam and Dean did the same in the parking space beside her. There was only a handful or so of other vehicles, many of which looked to be rusting off their wheels.

"Home, sweet home," her tone was slightly rueful as she pulled the motel room key from the front pocket of her jeans and lead the two Winchester boys to the door of her temporary home.

As she slid the key into the lock loud, unmistakeable sounds of ecstasy came from the room next door where the window was cracked slightly open, probably more due to a maintenance issue than a careless choice by the couple inside. "Nothing says welcome home like a little nooky next door," Dean smirked, showing perfectly white teeth.

Sam just rolled his eyes skyward at his brother's immaturity. Theresa laughed half-heartedly, "Tell me about it. Same woman every day I've been here. Different guy every day though," she cast a look over her shoulder at Sam and Dean, giving them a 'what-can-you-do' look and shrugging before turning back and pushing open the now unlocked door. "She's getting an awfully early start today though." Seedy activity was just a hazard of staying at cheap motels.

Inside the three of them were greeted by red brick wall papering and other equally tacky looking decorating and furnishing choices. The table in the kitchenette was covered with newspapers and a laptop with a large spiral bound notebook laying open beside it. On one of the beds lay a large duffel bag, opened to expose clothes and a cold glint of silver inside. Theresa tossed the bag she carried beside the duffel, making a dull clanking sound as it settled.

"So, now that Big Brother isn't watching, why the hell were you following us?" Dean asked.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it following," she replied sheepishly. Both of the boys gave her a look showing just how clearly they disagreed. "More like, you know, waiting?"

"Oh, well if that's all it was," Dean scoffed.

Sam gave a chuckle and a small smile before shaking his head and getting back to business, "You said something about the job here? What'd you find?"

"I can't pinpoint the damn thing. I know something's going on here, but what the hell it is - I just don't know," Theresa glowered down. No matter how many ways she looked at what was happening, or how many locals she talked to, nothing served as a hard clue to what she had been hunting for the last week.

"Can't find enough on it?" Dean asked, sobering up when there was a job in front of him.

"No, that's the weird thing. There's too much."

"What?" Sam looked at her, confused. "But wouldn't that just make it easier to find?"

"Not necessarily," it was clear Dean had seen this before, "mixed symbols, erratic behaviour. Sometimes it just makes these damn things harder to pin down."

"Exactly," she nodded as she walked over to the table and began to leaf through the papers until she pulled a small stack out from among the scattered mess. "What drew me to this place at first was a few recent inexplicable deaths-"

"First the Winslow murder, and then the Loren suicide," Sam cut in.

Theresa looked up from the pages to smile at Sam, "Done your research I see." She looked back at the papers in her hand and leaned back against the table top, "But I dug in further just to be safe. These deaths have been happening for a few months now - suicides, murders, deadly accidents, a fire - you name it."

Same and Dean walked over to either side of her to see the information she had managed to dig up. Dean leaned heavily on his hand to get a better look. "If there's been all these people dropping dead, why has no one else noticed yet?" he reached over and slid the top paper from between her fingers to study the picture of the middle aged man whose information was listed directly below.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. But if you looked at the deaths you'll see the time between is pretty long. And there's no real pattern to it. Everything about them is, as far as I can tell, random. None of the victims had any connections that I could find - different jobs, different lifestyles, even the M.O.'s of the deaths themselves are different."

"If it's all so random," Sam thought looking between his brother and Theresa, "maybe they aren't connected at all. Maybe this isn't out kind of problem."

"I think Sam might be right. What makes you think something supernatural's happening here?" Dean asked, his own scepticism apparent, "Sometimes weird things just happen."

"How many times has a case turned out to be just 'weird things happening?'" She asked, giving first Sam and then Dean a long look. "It's just-" she huffed, "I don't know! These deaths, they're happening too often in such a small area. And always in some strange way. Like," she shuffled through the papers until she pulled one out, "Alyssa Gamble; captain of her college swim team, drowns in her bathtub. Or-" she flicked through the stack again, "Ted Johnson; killed his wife two hours after marrying her then bit the bullet himself."

"Honeymoon's over, sweetheart" Dean said thoughtfully as he looked at the papers over her shoulder again.

"That's what I thought," she half smiled, relieved to hear he sounded a little intrigued again. "Here's another - Philip Shiban crashes his car on an empty back country road, into a tree twenty feet away from the road, in broad daylight. One of the homeowners on that stretch of road said there hadn't been any traffic all day." She let the hand holding the information she had collected lower to her thigh. "It's happening way too often to be coincidental."

A short silence stretched over them, broken only by the sounds of scuffling and a door closing forcefully in the room next door.

"What do you guys think?" This certainly felt like a case to her and whether they agreed or not she'd continue on with it, but if they did agree to help her she felt that they could clear it up much faster.

Dean looked over her at Sam, "Could be worth looking into." From the look Sam gave him, he was a little more reluctant to jump into this.

"Something doesn't make sense though," Sam looked at Theresa in a way that reminded her she was a complete stranger to them, "Why were you so terrified to talk about this back at the diner? You said something might overhear? Is there any reason why you think something would be listening?"

She looked away from Sam's intense gaze, "I talked to two of the victim's spouses, one in a public park and the other while they were alone at home."

There was a beat of silence. "And?" Dean asked.

"And, the one I spoke to in the park died less than twenty four hours later."

"What?" a look of disbelief crossed Sam's face, "But we haven't heard anything about another death lately."

"Of course not. The newspapers didn't print anything about it. The remaining family doesn't want any more press after the first incident," she explained

"Maybe talking to you had nothing to do with it," Sam suggested sensibly.

"Maybe." The way Sam spoke made her feel as though it really was very unlikely and she was being completely foolish. "But I couldn't take the risk. I'm sure you guys can appreciate that." The snort from Dean and the slight shrug of Sam's shoulders showed that they could. "After all, if we're going on the assumption that not all of these incidents are coincidences then I'm not really willing to chance anything."

Looking between the two of them once more she felt she had done all she could to explain the situation to them. "Well, what do you say? Will you help me out? We'll all be working on the same thing regardless if you guys stay in town, so why not work together?"

"Working with strange hunters we know next to nothing about hasn't really worked all that well for us in the past." She looked at Dean curiously, not understanding what he meant, but by the bitterness in his tone she could guess. "Sorry."

"She's got a point, Dean," Same pushed away from the table to stand further out in the room so he didn't have to look over Theresa to see his brother.

"About?"

"We're all after the same thing here. What could it hurt?" Theresa gave Sam a grateful smile.

"Famous last words," Dean heaved a sigh, "But I guess you two have a point. Plus you've done some of the leg work already," handing back the paper he still held to her he smiled. She smiled back in response as she took the paper. They may not fully trust her, but she didn't need them to.

"Thanks," she looked away from him to shuffle the papers back in order. "You can take it if you want," she suggested. "Maybe you guys will see something I didn't."

Sam looked a little surprised at the free share of information, "That'd be great, thanks."

"Not a problem." Facing the table she grabbed a small collection of newspaper cuttings help together in a paperclip and handed these and the papers she still held to Dean since he was the closest.

Dean looked down at the stack for a moment before folding them and carefully stowing them in his inside jacket pocket. "You know, if we're all going to be working together on this, you should probably give us your cell number. In case we have any questions or anything," he said smoothly with a cocky look in his green eyes.

Pretending to think about it for a moment she made a popping noise with her mouth, "Yeah, I guess you're right." When she turned to the table to scribble her name and number onto a blank sheet of paper in the notebook she saw Dean look at his brother from the corner of her eye and could have sworn she head a quiet, long suffering sigh from Sam's direction.

She ripped the paper from the book quickly and folded it neatly in half. Turning back to Dean she held the paper out. But not to Dean; she held it out for Sam who had moved to his brother's other side, but her eyes stayed on Dean's as Sam took it. She smiled toothily at Dean, a laugh in her eyes.

"Thanks," Sam smiled as she flicked her eyes over to him.

"Welcome. Thanks for agreeing to help guys."

"Right. Well we'll call you when we find something," Dean cleared his throat as he pushed away from the table.

"Okay. Call me as soon as you figure something out, no matter the time," she said once again serious.

"Will do," Dean said as he and Sam went to the door, her following right behind.

"Hopefully we can put this all behind us as quickly as possible," she said.

"Yeah, hopefully," he agreed.


	3. Signs of Life

It wasn't long before she heard from the Winchesters again. She had just been getting ready to leave when there was a knock at her motel room door.

"Just a minute," she called, throwing a towel into the bathroom to dry and pulling a dark green shirt over her head. She was still pulling the hem down over the top of her dark blue jeans when she opened the door to find Dean standing there in a dark blue jacket. His eyes were drawn down to the generous amount of skin showing above the waistband before she managed to tug her shirt into place.

"Oh, wow, hey Dean," she said caught off guard. She held the door open, looking at him quizzically.

His eyes moved up to her face when she spoke, "Not interrupting anything, am I ?"

"No, not really," leaning against the door frame she scanned his face, "I was actually just heading out for something to drink. Mingle with the locals, see if there are any legends around this area. You know, just keeping an ear out," she shrugged. "Did you guys find something?" as the possibility struck she stood up straighter, excited at the idea of a breakthrough on the case.

"Not yet. Sam's back at the motel room doing research still," he stood totally relaxed, hands in his pockets as though he had all the time in the world.

"Oh," she said, a little disappointed, and crossed her arms in front of herself self-consciously, "Is there something you needed?"

"Yeah, Sam was wondering which spouse you talked to. The one that's still alive. Wanted to know if they said anything strange."

"Strange how? Is he looking for something specific?" Nothing exceptional stood out about the brief conversation she had had with the grieving husband, but he had still been reeling with the news and the idea of raising his kids alone.

Dean shrugged his shoulders slowly, "Hell if I know," he allowed them to drop down again. "Far as I can tell he's just covering all his bases. Guy lives for research."

"If that's all then, no, I don't think so," she said after thinking for a moment. "Counter question," a ghost of a smirk flitted across her face. He raised his eyebrows slightly, silently telling her to go on, "Did you two lose my number already? Seems like a question you could have asked over the phone."

He gave a short laugh and licked his lips, looking away for a moment before bringing his eyes back to hers, "Yeah, well, research is more Sam's thing. I think he gets some kind of sick enjoyment from it. So I just let him go to it. Long as I stay out of his way, he's happy."

"Aw, that's so nice of you," she laughed a tad sarcastically, "So that's why you drove all the way here? To stay out of Sam's hair?"

"Yep," he smirked. "Besides, the ride's not bad," he indicated over his shoulder where the gleaming Impala crouched in the parking space just outside Theresa's door.

Her brown eyes traced the contours of the car with nothing short of lust only real car lovers can understand. "Yeah, I bet," she murmured. Theresa looked back at Dean to see he had been watching her with a sexy, proud smile on his face and felt a small jolt of something other than envy go through her. "She's your baby, huh?"

"Sure is," that proud smile didn't fade as he looked back at the Impala. She had to admit there was something undeniably attractive about a man who appreciated a car like that, but she still had to see if he could actually handle the American muscle.

"So, you heading back to the motel, or does Sam need more time alone?" she asked conversationally. If they were going to be in close contact for the next little while, it couldn't hurt to be on good terms.

"No, I think I'll give him some space. All work and no play kind of guy." His eyes traced her again, taking in the black running shoes that were worlds better for any kind of real work than the shoes she had worn yesterday. "Maybe I'll join you for that drink," she watched that grin spread across his face, "You know, mingle with the locals."

As he repeated her own words back at her she rolled her eyes at his attempt at charm. Though he was charismatic, she had to give him that much.

"Well, I guess I could live with that. Company's always nice."

"I'll drive," he offered. She had a feeling there was no arguing with him on this. Plus, it gave her an excuse to get closer to that car of his.

"Alright, just give me a minute to grab a jacket," she turned to go into the room.

"A minute as in a minute, or a minute as in me waiting out here for fifteen minutes while you do whatever you people do in there?" he was already stepping back to the Impala, walking backwards with his hands in his jacket pockets.

She smirked, calling over her shoulder, "A minute!" She walked back to the kitchenette to pick up her jacket from the back of a chair where she had tossed it yesterday.

After slipping on her jacket she walked over to the bed where her stash of weapons lay inside a duffle. She wouldn't go anywhere in this town without some sort of defence since she still didn't know what to expect from whatever was terrorizing the people. She pulled out a small handgun and a thin dagger of pure iron from amongst the other assorted weaponry. She tucked the dagger securely into an inside pocket of her jacket, and checked the chamber of her gun for the silver bullets she always kept loaded before stowing it inside her jacket too. Feeling comfortably outfitted she started toward the door, taking her good, sweet time just to stretch that 'minute' out a little longer. She locked her door carefully before heading over to the Impala.

Dean was sitting inside, lounging back against his seat, one hand resting comfortably on top of the steering wheel while the other dangled outside the window nonchalantly. She flashed him a knee jerk, half assed smile as his eyes turned to her when she crossed along the front of the Impala and opened the passenger side door.

"See?" she asked as she got into the car, "Two minutes. Tops."

He cast her a look, one eyebrow raised, as he turned the key in the ignition. "If you say so. Now where is this place?"

She felt the car kick into life under her as she tried to inconspicuously run her hands over the upholstery. "You probably passed it on your way in. Just off Main," she explained as he pulled out from the space smoothly. The tires hadn't touched the asphalt of the two lane road when she recognized the music quietly pumping through the speakers.

"Bob Sager?" she asked, causing him to slide a sideways glance at her questioningly.

"Yeah," he said challengingly, "What about it?"

She leaned back, feeling the way the car moved along the road, "Nothing. It's not bad, I guess."

His only response to her dismissive tone was to shake his head and turn the volume up loud enough that she could feel the bass like a second pulse inside her skin. The dreary town landscape began to whip by as Dean pressed down on the accelerator. It felt surreal to see everything blurring by as old classic rock surrounded them. Her exultant laugh was drowned out as she met Dean's steady gaze. The rules of the road had been clearly and inarguably established.

The bar was just barely within the town limits, but seeing as the town itself was barely a town at all, it didn't mean all that much. The bar was a fairly spacious area with only a little over a dozen tables scattered about, many of which were, surprisingly, occupied. Five or six people sat up along the bar where the barkeep stood polishing a glass meticulously. Despite the fact the clock was only just nearing nine o'clock , the sun only setting an hour or so ago, there was already one man slumped down against the counter. There was a slightly raised platform off to one side where a few burly looking guys were having a game of billiards. From one corner of the bar an old style jukebox played music, which could only be heard in patches through the dense cocktail of chatter and laughter.

"Man, this place is pretty decent," Theresa grinned excitedly, "I mean, where's the last place you saw a nickel jukebox?"

Dean half smiled at her enthusiasm, setting down his recently empty bottle. "Yeah, It's not bad," he agreed, though his heart didn't really seem in it.

"Don't strain yourself," she chided softly as she took the final swig from her own bottle, setting it down closer to the middle of the circular table they sat at.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Nothing, nothing," she shook her head. Dean gave her a look, that half smile still playing around the corners of his lips. They sat, looking at each other for a moment, an uncertain tension between them. Theresa was the first to duck her eyes away. She looked down and traced a finger along a deep scar on the polished wooden tabletop.

A waitress walked slowly by the table, smiling at Dean. "Oh, hey," he spoke to her as she drew even with him, "Think you could get us two more, sweetheart?"

"Sure thing," she lingered for just a moment longer than necessary before sauntering up to the bar to get the drinks. Both Theresa and Dean watched her go, but for entirely different reasons.

Theresa looked back at Dean just in time to see his eyes slide down to the waitress's perky little ass. She leaned back in her chair and when Dean pried his eyes away from the waitress she couldn't resist raising one eyebrow at him questioningly. He shrugged his shoulders, his facial expression a classic hand-in-the-cookie-jar innocent, which only made her snigger at him.

"So," she dragged out the 'o', deciding to sidestep a potentially awkward situation, "You and your brother seem awfully close." Taking about his family was really only one step up from talking about the weather, but at least thoughts of his brother would likely drive his mind away from the bar wench.

"Yeah. Sam's a good kid," the expression on his face spoke volumes about how close they were. "He's my kid brother. What else is there really to say?" He looked at her curiously for a moment, leaning his elbows on the table, "Only child?"

Her smile decreased just a little as she shook her head, "No," she paused, "What made you think that?"

Dean shrugged, "No one with any real apple pie family comes into this. And I've never heard of any hunters going by Priestley. Your family hunters too?"

She shook her head again, "No, no," she twirled the empty bottle so it rattled hollowly against the wood, "nothing like that." The way she wouldn't meet his eyes told him there was something else there, and she didn't want to talk about it. She looked back up at him to see that he was on the verge of probing deeper, but she knew as well as he did that asking a hunter how they got into it was never a good idea; no one got in for good reasons.

The awkward moment stretched taunt between them for a long moment. They looked at each other across the table again, but the growing sense of camaraderie that had been building between them was gone.

Luckily the well endowed waitress chose that moment to come back with two fresh beers. She slid one in front of Theresa with only a quick glance before sliding Dean's to him, lingering again hopefully. "If you need anything else, just shout," perfect whit teeth flashed at him.

"Yeah, will do," he flirted back, though it seemed a little half hearted.

Theresa lifted the fresh bottle to her lips for a long swallow as the waitress walked away swinging her hips much more apparently than before.

Dean looked back to see Theresa setting down her bottle, now missing a considerable amount. "Woah, uh, thirsty?"

She smiled again, trying to push past the tension, "Just a bit."

He pressed his fresh beer to his lips and took a long drink from it. "Since we're getting all friendly here, I've got a question," he said gruffly.

"Alright," she said somewhat hesitantly, wondering what he could possibly want to know. He hadn't struck her as the touchy feely type, let alone the type to ask arbitrary questions about her.

"Why Sam and I?" he leaned forward on the table again, looking perfectly at ease, though she suspected she couldn't brush off the answer with a joke this time.

"I heard you two were some of the best," the answer came out plainly, getting straight to the point.

"From who?" he asked suspiciously. Sam and Dean made more enemies than friends on the road. A hazard of digging up bodies and burning them.

Theresa shrugged noncommittally, "Dunno. Some hunter at the Roadhouse." Dean started in surprise which she misunderstood, "It's a small bar hunters tend to frequent."

"I know. We've been there before," he looked at her closely, "Who told you about us? Do you remember anything?"

"What?" his sudden intense desire to know left her a little taken aback, "No. Nothing. It was just some guy passing through ages ago." The look in his eyes told her he wasn't satisfied with that answer. She cast her eyes upward for a moment exasperatedly before looking back at him, "Come on. You know how hunters like to talk."

"No, not really," he said, "but if you say so," he tipped his bottle to her before taking a swig. Mimicking his gesture she took a small mouthful. Dean relaxed back into his chair once more as Theresa traced patterns in the condensation on the side of her bottle.

"How did you know we were going to be here anyway?" he asked after a moment, studying her carefully. When she looked up to answer him she noticed how his eyes were trained on her. Her first instinct was to look away from the curiosity she saw there, but she didn't; she tried to meet his gaze just as steady, though something inside her twisted in her stomach.

"Call it a hunch." Dean scoffed, obviously not a believer of such things. She snickered at him, "Alright, alright," she raised open hands to him, palms out, "I knew you guys were only a few towns over, so I thought when you caught wind of what was going on you'd head this way."

"Well that's-" he abruptly paused, "-creepy," he laughed. She couldn't help but chuckle along, embarrassed. Dean shook his head, "I'll let Sam know to lock the doors."

She couldn't look at him. Now she was some kind of obsessive stalker. "Yeah, well, uh," trying to explain herself got her no where. She stumbled over her words a few times before chuckling to herself, covering her face with one hand, "Okay, you've got me there."

Dean smirked, watching her reaction as he took another swallow of cold alcohol.

Theresa closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before removing her hand and scanning the bar for an excuse not to look at the smug face across from her. She watched as the two men who had been hussling pool walked away from the table, one happily to the bar, the other dejectedly left. "Hey," she pressed her lips together briefly, "how about a game?" she nodded over his shoulder. Looking behind him he noticed the now vacant pool table and looked back at her incredulously. "Oh, come on. It's not like we're getting any work done here anyway.""Really?" he asked, still not sold on the idea.

She grinned mischievously, "Could be fun. Maybe make a little wager," she leaned forward on the table.

"A wager?" he asked suggestively.

"If you want," she laughed, thinking she should have known that he'd twist the idea of a wager into something perverse. "I'll be right back. Think on it though." She pushed away from the table and stood up, walking past the bar to the small hallway leading to the washrooms.

The hallway was short, the walls painted a dreary, dirty off white. At the end an exit sign hummed dully over an industrial looking door. Her footsteps echoed slightly in the enclosed space as she walked towards the door near the end with faded and peeling letters spelling "LADIES." It was grungy, but somehow it didn't seem to bother her.

Just as she was only a few paces from the door the florescent lights above her hummed loudly before sputtering, throwing eerie shadows along the walls. Immediately drawing to a halt, Theresa's hand disappeared under her jacket, gripping the handle of the iron knife. The only sound was her breathing accompanying the fizzing of the lights overhead. For a few long moments she stood completely still, waiting.

A scream punctuated the strained silence. Quickly, Theresa charged through the door of the woman's washroom, the origin of the scream.

Inside a woman lay on the red slicked tiles. Blood bubbled in her mouth, spilling down her cheeks and neck where a long jagged gash spilled more blood to pool on the floor behind her head. From where Theresa was standing it looked as though the cut went almost clean through to her spine. A metallic smell hung heavily in the air.

There wasn't time to dwell on the horrific sight on the floor. Standing over the body on the floor was a woman. Her hair might have been long, but it was matted thickly together with an unmistakeable sticky red substance. A long, serrated slash ran across her neck, exactly mirroring the one the woman on the floor was now bleeding steadily out of. Her eyes were sunken deep into her face, a manic glint glowing from the shadow.

The spirit moved with insect-like twitches, each one accompanied by a loud, bone shattering crack. She moved in the blink of an eye to stand just beyond arm's reach, glowering at Theresa murderously. Theresa held her dagger primed at her side, waiting, but the ghost didn't move.

Suddenly it lunged at her. She sliced through the air with the deadly pure iron edge, but the apparition was gone.

The door banged open, smashing against the wall and barely missing her. Still charged from the encounter she spun, bringing the dagger down. Her arm was abruptly stopped at the top of its arch by a large hand closing around her wrist.

"Dean!" she gasped.

He looked past her at the grisly sight before letting her wrist go, only to grab her upper arm instead. "Come on," he growled, pulling her out into the hall and moving toward the exit.

"Wait! Dean!" trying to pry her arm away from him proved useless against his firm hold.

He didn't stop until they were outside. Dean spun to face her, "They find that girl in there," he jabbed his finger at the heavy door behind them, "who do you think they're going to blame?" His eyes locked on hers for the briefest moment, "Come on," he said roughly, grabbing her upper arm again he pulled her to the Impala; she didn't fight him this time.


	4. Hey Hey What Can I Do?

_Hey guys! Sorry for the exceptionally long wait, I didn't intend to leave you hanging like that. While uploading the last chapter for this story FanFiction delivered a virus that basically shut down almost all function on my computer. After spending as much time as possible I've ditched the virus and all is well again. Originally I wasn't going to risk it again and upload, but I really wanted to. If I get another virus though I will no longer be posting here. I am looking for alternatives, so if anyone has any suggestions they'd be very much appreciated. Right now I'm looking at Deviantart and considering just going straight to a weekly email kind of thing (don't worry, I wouldn't spam you). So if you don't hear anything from me on here, its because I've moved due to virus. Check Deviantart first since I've already an account there (blacklily449) and if not there (not sure how safe it is either) and no suggestions pan out then I'll be sending emails through my personal email to anyone who really wants updates. Again I'm really sorry! Thanks to everyone who watched, favourited, or reviewed._

* * *

The drive felt agonizingly long. They no longer shared that light-hearted feeling they had managed to maintain before; they rode in complete silence except for the quiet music that played over the tension in the car. After a few moments of silence Theresa cast a sideways glance at Dean from the corners of her eyes. His face was a heavy mask of dark frustration that told her it would be better not to try to start up any kind of conversation at this time.

As unpleasant as they were, she began to bring the details of what she had witnessed back into the forefront of her mind as vividly as possible. The sting of the harsh metallic smell from the blood pooling on the floor, the sudden dry chill, the way the woman's face steadily grew paler as all blood left her body, and the malice in the apparition's eyes. She knew it was important to remember as much as she possibly could, despite the squeeze of her stomach as she thought back on it; any small detail could be the only clue they needed to solve the case and getting the hell out of that town, and right now this one encounter, lasting only seconds, was their best lead.

She watched as the turn to her hotel came up, but instead of turning down the well lit road Dean continued on unflinchingly at a breakneck speed.

"Dean?" she asked hesitantly, afraid of the dark mood that was undoubtedly bubbling under the surface."What?" he sounded surprisingly calm, though the look in his eye hadn't faded in the slightest."Where are you going?"

"To the motel," he answered blandly. The short, clipped answers he gave had her pausing before saying anything more.

"You just missed the turn," she tried not to sound like she was correcting him, in case he wasn't as in control as he sounded.

"Not yours. You need to tell Sam and me what happened back there," he explained.

"Oh. Right." She settled back into herself, looking out the window. It should have been obvious to her, but she hadn't worked with anyone in a very long time and she forgot that any information she managed to gather was not only for herself any more. This was a whole different game than what she was used lights and neon signs cast harsh shadows as the car sped through the streets until Dean turned the Impala into a parking lot of a motel very similar to the one she was staying at. Sign posts across the road from the entrance directed travelers to the Interstate. A few cars stood between the almost non-existent yellow lines. Small lights illuminated large brass numbers that hung in the center of the doors.

Dean threw the car into park and wasted no time in climbing out. Theresa clambered out less gracefully, looking around in an attempt to gain her bearings. When she looked back to find Dean he was already standing impatiently by a door.

"Do you want to take the tour or..."he asked. At the very least, he didn't sound as gruff as before.

"Smart ass," she grumbled as she swung the door of the Impala closed and hurried over to him. He almost smiled as he opened the door, stepping inside. Looking around him she saw a fairly generic motel set-up: clearance bin wall paper, wooden kitchen table and chairs that looked to have seen better days, and two queen sized beds. Sam sat at the scarred table, the blue glow of his laptop reflecting on his face, washing him out. His shirtsleeves were pushed up past his elbows. He looked up from the screen, his eyes finding his brother and the woman behind him. The younger brother's brow furrowed, his face a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

"Uh, hey," he said haltingly. "What are you doing here? I didn't expect you back for a while," he spoke to Dean.

"Yeah, I didn't expect to be back yet either." Ushering Theresa inside he closed the door with a sharp snap.

"Hey Theresa," Sam greeted her as she stepped further into the room. Slowly he closed the laptop, one large hand splayed absently on top of the smooth surface.

Dean strode into the room, passing Theresa as he headed toward the small kitchenette. Wordlessly he opened the small bar fridge and pulled out a couple of beers. He turned and tossed one over to Sam who caught it easily, though surprise registered in his eyes. Grabbing a third beer from the fridge he eased the door closed with his foot.

"What happened? Where did you guys go?" Sam asked warily.

Theresa's eyes wandered over to Dean, unsure if he wanted to explain. One beer in either hand he crossed the space between them. His eyes met hers as he pressed one of them into her hand. The combined sensation of the intensity of his eyes and the cool glass bottle in her hand made something inside her flicker strongly. She swallowed hard and gave him a grateful smile before he broke contact and continued past her to sit in the chair opposite Sam's. She waited only a second or two before following him over to the table and sat in one of the two available chairs between the Winchesters.

Sam and Dean cracked open their bottles at the same time, the hissing punctuating the silence, reliving a little of the tension.

"So," Sam leaned forward after downing a small mouthful and setting the bottle aside, interlacing his fingers in front of himself on the table, "what happened?"

Dean looked at Theresa who remained quiet before focusing on his brother as he explained his side of the story, "We went over to the bar and Theresa here had a run in with something.""What was it?"

"I don't know, it was gone before I got there," Dean said."Gone? Gone where?" Sam sounded incredulous.

"The hell am I supposed to know?" Dean tone spiked defensively. "All I know is she left for the washrooms and then there was a scream. By the time I got there Theresa tried to gank me and there was some dead chick bleeding out on the floor. Figured it was best if we just shagged ass out of there."Sam looked at Theresa, "You tried to kill him?"

She crossed her legs under the table, "Well I didn't know it was Dean," she said sheepishly. "And I was a little on edge. You know, ghost murderer and all."

"So it was a ghost?"

"Yeah, I think so. Pretty pissed off too. It did a number on that girl. Sliced right through her neck."

"What did it look like?"

"Uh, she was, um," scrambling she tried to remember, "I-I don't know," she groaned, pushing her hair out of her eyes in frustration. "It all happened so quickly, you know?"

"Do you remember anything? Hair colour, clothing, any markings?" Sam encouraged though it was obvious he was trying to put as little pressure on her as possible.

The details were so vivid in her mind, but only concerning how she had felt in that moment, and how the other girl had looked. She could only faintly remember the spectre at all. "Her hair was...dark? Maybe brown," she looked between Sam and Dean as though they could help. "And a-," she waved her hand past her throat a few times in a cutting motion, "A really horrible slice through her neck. Like whoever did it didn't know how to use a knife in the slightest." Dropping the hand down into her lap she sighed, "I really am sorry guys. I don't remember anything before she attacked me."

Dean gave the smallest of starts, she almost didn't notice, "She attacked you?"

"Well kind of. If felt like she was." Despite her best efforts, it was all hard to fully explain. "She saw me standing there and gave this look. Then she just lunged at me. But before she actually reached me she was just...gone."

"Did it seem like it really wanted to hurt you?" Sam asked wisely, "or was it just trying to frighten you?""No," shaking her head slowly she thought critically on the events that had transpired in that grimy washroom. "It felt like she really wanted to hurt me, but something…stopped it." Again she looked between the two well seasoned hunters, searching for the same answers they wanted her to give to them. "Have you guys ever seen a ghost do that before?"

Dean leaned back in his chair, "Not one we've ever come across."

"Do you have an idea of anything that might be able to do that sort of thing?" she knew they dealt with almost everything she had heard of, and many things she hadn't, so if anyone knew, she'd put money on these two knowing as well.

"Besides salt and iron?" Sam pressed his lips together thoughtfully for a moment, "No. Nothing."

Theresa sighed, "So our next move is-"

"Research," Sam and her spoke in a clumsy almost unison.

"Oh wonderful," Dean smiled sarcastically, "my favourite."

Sam gave his brother a look, tilting his head slightly to one side, letting a breath escape wearily. "Dean-""I know, I know. Relax," he grumbled. Dean pushed away from the table, standing upright and rolling one shoulder. "Alright, well, as eager as I am to get started on our research," he spoke in a slightly halting fashion, putting special, distasteful, emphasis on certain words, making him sound the most contemptuous and sarcastic she had heard yet, "I think I'll take you back to your room first."

"What?" she demanded, looking up at him from where she still sat. "But why? Shouldn't we work together on this? Won't we get more done?"

The Winchesters shared a quick communicative glance before Sam spoke softly to her, "It's getting late and you've already done your share tonight."

She stared at Sam for a moment, frustrated. In no way did she feel that her share had been done tonight, not when there was so much more that could be done, but she had a feeling that arguing that point would provide nothing more than an opportunity to become even more frustrated and perhaps hinder the comfortable teamwork they were building. She huffed a breath, looking away, "Alright. I guess we could just start again in the morning." Standing slowly she offered him a friendly smile, "Night Sam."

"Night," he said, relieved she wasn't going to argue with him.

"Come on then," Dean said as he led the way out of the cramped motel room, Theresa following quickly behind him walking away from Sam and the beer she hadn't so much as touched. She wasn't angry per say, she could see the logic behind waiting until morning when they could come at it with fresh eyes was solid, but she still didn't particularly like the idea.

As they stepped out into the harsh yellow glow of the streetlights lighting the lot the jingle of Dean's keys broke the stagnant stillness of the night. No cars streamed by on the road, no people stumbled back into their rooms after a good night out. It was as though the whole town was holed up for the night, awaiting morning. Maybe they knew something was happening in their sleepy little town.

Once the Impala was growling beneath them and one of the great hair bands filled the car with their true to life lyrics she could almost forget she was in some no horse town hunting down some sort of spirit. She leaned back against the well worn seat, her head tipped upward slightly, choppy fringe falling down over her closed eyelids. She stayed like that for a few moments, drinking in the normality of that moment in that amazing American muscle car with the scent of the upholstery, gasoline, and something she couldn't identify that had her pulse racing and relaxing simultaneously surrounding her. She could have easily spent the rest of her days like that, cruising around in the fantastic piece of American history and have been content.

She opened her eyes grudgingly when she felt an uncomfortable tingle settle in along the base of her skull. She found Dean's green eyes on her, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. Even when she looked at him questioningly he just smirked, completely unapologetic, which only drew his eyes down to his lips momentarily. He sure was an attractive son of a gun, and he definitely knew it.

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes roving over his face quizzically before settling on his eyes. Neither of them looked away, despite the fact he was driving. That same tingling sensation she had felt earlier returned with a vengeance, this time accompanied with a sudden heat that pulled down the length of her spine. The connection between them was broken by her first as she scoffed and turned toward the window, smiling to herself and pushing a hand through her hair.

The drive between the two motels was not a long one, made even shorter by the longer stretches of empty road and Dean's lead foot. The window reflected her face back at her as she tried to look out at the flat black landscape beyond. Dean's fingers kept rhythm against the steering wheel as the music changed. Already she could feel the two of them falling into an easy pattern. Although he was obviously at ease with her, she kept looking at his reflection in the glass as he focused on the road, the memory of the feeling when his eyes on her too startlingly fresh.

When Dean pulled into a parking space outside her room it wasn't until he turned off the engine that she became aware they were already there.

"Thanks," she murmured as she unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out of the car. Dean stepped out of the car on his side leaving her a little taken aback, but she tried to think nothing more of it. It did no good to build things up in her mind. He walked behind her up to the door and leaned against the wall under a light illuminating her room number.

"So, thanks for coming with me tonight," she searched through her pockets until she found the room key, "Worked in my favour that you were there, what with the ghost and all."

"I'm sure you would have been alright on your own," he shrugged, his eyes tracing her face turned the key between her fingers for a moment.

"Are you okay now though?" he asked. "I mean, we don't know how this thing picks its targets. Totally understandable to be a little freaked out. Especially in a motel like this," he indicated the unlatched window next door.

She smiled playfully at him, "Is this your way of trying to be invited in?"

"Might be. Is it working?" he asked, his voice lowered, a glint in his eye.

"Maybe," she stepped a little closer to him, smirking. "Or maybe I am a little nervous about that ghost.""Oh really?" The smile on his face turned devilish as he stepped away from the wall slightly, one arm still outstretched so his palm pressed against the red brick and she stood within the curve of his body.

She knew this wasn't the best way to stay focused on the case, but there wasn't any problem with a little no-strings-attached company. Not to mention she couldn't help admiring his good looks all night, so what the hell? Throwing caution to the wind she tipped her face toward him just as he ducked his head a little lower to meet her.

His free hand came up to rest just the very tips of his fingers against the smooth curve of her neck. She had expected him to be quick and primal, but he moved slowly, smoothly, seductively. Green eyes stared down into hers as their breath mingled in the contained space between them, warmth fanning across her face.

Just as both sets of eyes slid shut and they leaned into each other a bang came as a man stormed out of the room next to them. At the sound Theresa had jumped back, expecting something paranormal, not the man hastily fixing his tie and making excuses into his phone. Their lips had not so much as brushed before they had been interrupted.

The man stomped over to his car and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving the two hunters standing alone under the glow of the cracked light. Now that she had a moment she couldn't help but think that maybe now wasn't the best time for this. She didn't expect him to stay, in fact she would have been shocked if he had, but she'd have to work with him and his brother tomorrow and she couldn't help but wonder if that would make things awkward. Looking back at Dean she could see a similar revelation in his eyes. "Sam will probably be waiting for you back at your room, huh?" she asked, very aware that his fingertips still skimmed over her neck.

"No. Not really," he took his hand away, leaving points of warmth where his fingers had been. "But yeah. Probably not the best time."

"Alright. Well, uh, thanks again. With the ghost," she added.

"Yeah," he stepped back, still looking at her, as he pulled his car keys from his pockets. "You probably should be careful. We really don't know how that ghost picks its targets. Just, watch out for yourself," he said as he drew level with the Impala.

"I'll try," she smiled, "Night."

"Night."

She watched as he started up the Impala, flashed her a last look, and then pulled out of the parking lot before she locked the door and headed inside.


End file.
